So he set about the supposedly hopeless
task of inducing Alaska to part with one of her plants. Half an
hour after entering the library he departed with a balloon shaped
object in his arms. He was not too proud to be seen shuffling
up the lane with his prize, a huge thing loosely done up in
newspapers,--leaving behind him a completely dazzled Alaska who
went about the place aimlessly folding and unfolding a brand new
two-dollar bill.
"I don't know what come over me," explained Alaska later on to a
couple of astonished ladies who had hurried in to see if the report
was true that she had parted with one of her geraniums. "For the
life of me, I don't know how I happened to do it. 'Specially the
one I was proudest of, too. I've always said I'd never sell one of
my plants,--not even if the President of the United States was to
come in and offer me untold millions for it,--and here I--I--why,
Martha, I almost GAVE it to him, honest I did. I just couldn't seem
to help letting him have it. Of course, I don't mind its loss half
so much, knowing that it is going to Alix. She loves flowers. She'll
take the best of care of it. But how I ever came to--"
"Don't cry, Alaska," broke in one of her callers cheerfully. "You'll
be getting it back before long."
"Never," lamented Alaska. "What makes you think I'll get it back?"
she went on, suddenly peeping over the edge of her handkerchief.
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